


doesn't mean we've had enough

by Frenchibi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (because of course there's crying), Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Loneliness, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, alternatively: of how Oikawa deserves the world and Iwaizumi gives it to him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-12
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-16 14:29:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12344520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frenchibi/pseuds/Frenchibi
Summary: All he wants is Hajime here. Cross-legged on the couch or Tooru’s bed, complaining about Tooru’s cold feet and cold hands but still letting Tooru lean on him, or even sit in his lap on good days. He wants Hajime’s fingers carding through his hair absent-mindedly as they watch a movie, or softly when he thinks Tooru’s dozed off beside him. He wants Hajime’s warmth and his laugh and the smell of the coffee he drinks in the morning, bright and early before Tooru has even opened his eyes, filling his apartment with life. Just the thought of it makes Tooru want to curl up into a ball and cry.





	doesn't mean we've had enough

**Author's Note:**

> just because we're growing up  
> doesn't mean we've had enough  
> [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hhK3HaviHMw)

He knows Hajime can tell that something’s off. Still, he doesn’t know what to say.

“Just.”

There aren’t words for the rest, not really. Not ones that he hasn’t overused in the last few months. Like saying a word over and over and over until it loses all meaning. _I hate being alone. Everything is cold and dark and I miss you, I miss you, I miss you-_

Hajime is silent on the other end, waiting. Always so patient.

“...something’s wrong,” he says finally. Because of course he knows. Tooru couldn’t hide from him if he tried, not even over the phone. He pulls his knees up to his chest, his back resting against the front door. Kind of pathetic, that he didn’t even manage to walk inside.

The lies - Tooru hates them, too. He hates his own fake smiles and dimples and peace signs more than anyone else ever could, because they’re everything he wants to be, but they’re not _real._ Just like Hajime’s voice on the phone, “I’m here,” when he’s at the other end of a huge city.

Tooru doesn’t _want_ to walk into an apartment that doesn’t have Hajime in it.

Of course it could be worse. He could be back in Miyagi. He could be in a different country, a different time zone - he could be much, much further away.

But the distance they have now is already killing him.

Because even though they’re in the same city, they only see each other every other weekend, sometimes even less. Their planned “best friend movie nights” every Friday died before they even properly started, because they’re both busy and bustling and-

Lonely.

All he wants is Hajime here. Cross-legged on the couch or Tooru’s bed, complaining about Tooru’s cold feet and cold hands but still letting Tooru lean on him, or even sit in his lap on good days. He wants Hajime’s fingers carding through his hair absent-mindedly as they watch a movie, or softly when he thinks Tooru’s dozed off beside him. He wants Hajime’s warmth and his laugh and the smell of the coffee he drinks in the morning, bright and early before Tooru has even opened his eyes, filling his apartment with life. Just the thought of it makes Tooru want to curl up into a ball and cry.

Hajime. His _smile._

The sound of him chuckling over something stupid Tooru’s said, and the swelling feeling that comes with knowing that he made his Iwa-chan laugh. The smell of his shampoo, the same since their first year in high school. The rough warmth of his palms and fingertips, always ready to reassure Tooru in whatever way he needs - a flick of fingers against his forehead, a pat on the back, a hand in his hair, on his shoulder, around his waist when Tooru slides into his arms in the dark, hoping, praying that he’ll get away with it one last time before Hajime decides that they’re too close for _just friends._ And oh, how Tooru wishes they were more, feels they should be, they’re _meant_ to be-

And that’s just it, isn’t it. Tooru wants, wants, wants.

“It’s fine,” he says, because Hajime is still waiting.

A sigh. Tooru can _see_ him, as if he was right here, eyebrows drawing together in exasperation and real concern - always, always real concern.

“Tell me,” Hajime says, and Tooru is startled by how soft his voice is, all of a sudden. “...I can’t see you, so- so I don’t know how to help. What’s wrong?”

Tooru shakes his head, even though there’s no way that’s going to carry through the receiver. Hajime is always so careful, so gentle and patient and much more than Tooru could ever be for him.

“Iwa, I- it’s fine, okay? Just the same old stuff. Don’t worry.” He can feel his throat closing up.

Hajime isn’t buying it. Of course not.

“Tooru,” he says, tone laced with worry, and Tooru tenses at the name. “Why didn’t you call me earlier?” _Why won’t you let me help you?_

Tooru lets out a small, strangled chuckle, remembering their chats from during the day. _God, I’m so annoyed right now?? Everyone can just fuck off. Especially my biology professor._

“You were already having a bad day,” he says, shrugging even as his voice breaks. “I didn’t want to… add more bullshit. Especially since it’s always the same shit with me. You… you didn’t seem like you’d be in the mood to listen to me whine.”

It’s half-true. That, and the constant, gut-wrenching fear that Hajime will get tired of him if all he ever does is complain.

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and for a terrible second, Tooru thinks Hajime has hung up. But then-

“Tooru,” Hajime says again, and this time there’s hurt in his voice. “Tooru, I’m _always_ in the mood for you. I thought that was obvious?”

Tooru leans back against the wall, breathing hard as he feels tears prickling in his eyes. He clenches them shut, willing himself to get a goddamn grip, to be _better than this_ -

“Tooru. Hey.”

“Hm?” he manages, thick and heavy, and fuck, he _sounds_ like he’s crying again, too-

There’s shuffling on the other end of the line.

“I need you to do a couple things for me,” Hajime says. “Okay?”

Words are hard, so Tooru just makes a small sound of ascent, listening to the rise and fall of Hajime’s breathing, suddenly strange and echoing.

“Do you- do you still have the blanket I got you for your birthday?” Hajime asks, “Back in middle school?” _With tiny aliens and spaceships. Faded to bluish-gray from its original bright colors, well-used and well-loved._

Tooru’s breath hitches, both in surprise and incredulity, _of course_ he still has-

“I need you to get it.”

He doesn’t have to say that he can’t get up right now, can’t move his legs, doesn’t understand why, because Hajime seems to just _know._

“Not right now, if it’s too hard. Just, as soon as you can move. Okay? Trust me.”

The echoing cuts out and is replaced by the unmistakable sound of a car passing by. Tooru is distracted by it, too distracted to wonder how Hajime could possibly know that he couldn’t move now if the world was ending, because everything, all this weight is just too much and he’s trying so, so hard not to cry, even as there are already tears slipping down his cheeks.

“I-Iwa-chan, where-”

“There’s something I gotta do - but I’m not hanging up, I promise. I’m right here. I’m right here, Tooru.”

He bites his lip. It kind of makes him want to scream, _you’re not here, you’re so far away and I need you, I need you-_

“Tooru?”

He swallows a sob, but he can’t quite kill the sound.

“I know,” Hajime says, and oh, there’s pain there, now, “I know. It’s okay.”

_Nothing’s okay, nothing, nothing-_

“Take a deep breath for me. Can you do that?”

He’s running, now, Tooru can tell by his breathing. He wants to ask where, why, but it’s too heavy.

_I need you so much, so much-_

“I’m sorry,” Tooru chokes out, and it breaks, it _breaks,_ “I’m s-such a mess, I’m sorry, I’m-”

“You’re fine,” Hajime insists. “You hear me? It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize for feeling bad. Not ever. Let me help you. Please.”

“It’s _stupid,_ ” Tooru grits out, slumping back, hot tears streaming down his face. “It’s stupid, I’m- I’m stupid, it’s always the s-same thing and I _know_ I shouldn’t worry-”

“It’s not stupid. Your fears aren’t stupid. And it doesn’t matter if it’s the same as before, or if it’s something new. Tooru- it’s never stupid. You’re feeling it, so it’s real.”

Tooru’s breath hitches. “I-I’m always breaking, a-and I’m never… I’m never okay-”

“You can’t fight everything on your own,” Hajime says. His voice has gone softer now, and his steps have slowed. “Let me help you.”

There’s the unmistakable jingle of a shopfront door, and Tooru tenses. What is he doing…?

“Take a breath for me, can you do that?”

But he’s distracted, can’t focus-

“I’ll count, just breathe with me. Four in, and then four out, okay?”

He tries, he really does, listens to Hajime’s voice as he whispers numbers, tries to go along.

“Good,” Hajime says, even though Tooru chokes and takes too many breaths all at once. “That’s it. You’re fine, Tooru, you’re fine.”

There’s rustling, and more footsteps. “Again,” Hajime says quietly. “Okay?”

Tooru can’t speak, but he tries to obey, closes his eyes, takes another breath and lets it out.

He hears another voice, muffled and far away on the other line, name a price, followed by the clatter of coins against wood. Hajime mumbles _thank you_ before the door jingles again.

“Good,” Hajime says, then. “Keep going.”

He’s started running again, and Tooru curls in over himself, listening to his footfalls until they stop.

A click. A door that opens and shuts.

An engine, whirring to life.

Oh.

“You’re driving,” Tooru whispers, into the silence of his apartment.

Hajime hums. “Yeah. Putting you on speaker now.”

“Are… are you-”

“Forty-five minutes,” Hajime says, over the click of the seat belt. “Hang on, okay?”

Tooru chokes back another sob.

“Y-you’re coming here.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re- you’re _coming here,_ ” he repeats, and he can’t stop the tears. “B-but Iwa-chan, your classes, you-”

“It’s fine,” Hajime says. The engine rumbles in the background.  “Don’t worry. I just need you to breathe, and to hold on until I get there, yeah?”

“I-Iwa-”

“You’re not sleeping alone tonight. It’s gonna be okay.”

Tooru has no more words, he buries his face in his knees and cries.

Hajime lets him, doesn’t interrupt - he’s just there, sharing a space as best he can.

_Coming here._

Slowly, slowly his breaths even out.

“...think you can go get your blanket now?” Hajime asks softly.

“...b-but why-”

“Because sitting on the couch with it is better than sitting on the floor. Can you get up?”

_Are you psychic, Iwa-chan? How did you know?_

Tooru’s shaking, giddy and still sort of crying and he’s not sure he can do anything at all, but he wants to try.

He pushes himself forward, until he manages to get onto his knees. Hajime must hear the little startled breath he lets out because it’s _hard_ \- and he does, because after a second, he says: “Tooru? Are you okay?”

Tooru stops, takes a second to breathe. He hasn’t even taken off his shoes, and his bag is splayed out beside him, where he dropped it.

He didn’t move until Hajime finally called, and even then it was just to adjust his legs, really.

Everything seems kind of surreal, in that moment, like he’s seeing the room from somewhere else, like he’s not really here. There’s dust collecting between the shoe cabinet and the wall, and for some reason there’s a button and a crumpled up piece of paper half-hidden underneath it. One of Tooru’s jackets has slipped off its hanger and is only wedged in place by the coat that’s hung in front of it - it could fall at any moment. The drawer where he keeps gloves and scarves isn’t shut properly.

Focusing on these details makes it a little easier to breathe. Hajime might have said something again, but Tooru is dazed for a moment, tuning everything out except the sound of his own breathing, making him self-conscious.

It takes a moment before he can come back, blinking his way back into where he is, on his knees, tear tracks drying on his face. Sofa. Blanket. _Hajime._

“...’m up,” he manages, reaching for the doorknob to help pull himself to his feet.

“Okay,” Hajime says, and though Tooru knows he must be relieved, to an extent, his voice doesn’t betray it. There’s the steady rumble of the car he’s in (Tooru remembers the smell, then, sudden and sharp, like being doused in cold water), but not much else. The occasional click of the turn signal, and the swipe of the windshield wipers.

“...okay,” Tooru repeats, and somehow his heartbeat is overpowering everything else.

“Can you find the blanket?”

He nods, before remembering to use his voice. “I- yeah. Yeah, I know where.”

“Good. Think you can go get it now?”

Tooru makes a soft affirmative sound, not wanting to fight for more words. He drags his arm over his face, knows without looking in a mirror that his eyes are puffy and his nose is red and he’s a complete mess.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. _Hajime._

“Y-you’re really coming here?” he asks instead, hating how small and crushingly _hopeful_ he sounds (like he could hide it, like he ever could, fuck-) and he’s sure he hears Hajime’s breath hitch, just a tiny bit.

“40, give or take,” Hajime tells him. “Closer every minute.” Like picking up Tooru’s heart, piece by piece, effortless.

It still _hurts,_ sharp and real, because he’s not here yet, because _what if something happens,_ because time is too _slow-_

But it’s no longer pinning him to the ground. He stands, clutches his phone to his ear.

“Iwa-chan.”

“I’m right here,” Hajime promises again, low and calm and more than Tooru could ever ask for. “...the blanket?”

Tooru exhales, shuddering. The blanket. Yes.

He makes his way into the apartment, not bothering with the light switch. He knows where the blanket is - piled on one side of his worn-down sofa. He stutters a little when he sees it, because he knows it doesn’t smell like Hajime anymore - he’d sit here most evenings, wrapped up in it, hoping for something that might have lingered, missing Hajime ridiculously much and hating himself for it-

He shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts, the darkness, the _loneliness._ He’s coming. He’s _coming._

Tooru knows it’s selfish. Hajime has classes, just like him, and it’s only Wednesday. If he’s coming now, He won’t be able to stay long. He’ll get in trouble. He’ll miss things, he might even fail an exam-

Tooru drags that train of thought to a stop by force, reaching for the blanket, tugging it up to his chest and burying his face in it.

As expected, the smell of _home_ is gone.

“...did you find it?” Hajime asks, followed by the click of the turn signal again.

“Mmh.”

“Good. Perfect. Now, before you sit down - can you get a glass of water?”

Tooru makes an inquisitive sound, and he can hear Hajime smiling.

“You need to drink something, even if it’s just a small sip for now. I know you sometimes forget because you’re busy. Please, just… go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. Right now.”

Tooru takes a heavy breath, not sure how or why this is meant to help, but he obeys. He drops the blanket back onto the couch and steps around it to get to the kitchen - a glorified corner more than anything else, but it’s enough for now.

He loses part of the way, somehow, because suddenly he’s standing in front of the sink and there’s a glass in his hand. He’s not sure where it came from, and he should probably turn on the light to check if it’s clean, but somehow, he can’t bring himself to.

Instead he simply fills it with water from the tap - it overflows a bit, so he tilts it until he can safely carry it back to the sofa, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder.

“...got it,” he mumbles.

“Good. Then… try and sit down, okay? And breathe.”

It takes a good ten minutes for Tooru’s breathing to normalize, but Hajime’s voice is there to guide him every step of the way, and endless stream of soft words and encouragement in Tooru’s ear.

“You’re doing great. See, and time’s already passing faster. I’ll be there in just half an hour.”

Tooru’s fingers clench over the blanket, and a few leftover tears trickle down his face.

“...okay,” he whispers, clutching the phone tighter, like it’d bring Hajime closer somehow. “Okay, Iwa-chan.”

“Good,” Hajime says, voice gentle. “You can do this, Tooru. Not long.”

“Iwa-chan...”

“Yes?”

“Iwa-chan.”

Hajime waits. (Oh, _oh,_ he’s always so patient-)

“Thank you,” Tooru whispers, barely a proper sound at all, voice still broken and wobbly.

Hajime exhales, and when Tooru closes his eyes he can practically see the smile on his face again.

“...there’s no need to thank me. You know, the truth is… I was looking for an excuse to come over, anyway.”

Tooru sniffles. “...yeah?”

“...yeah.”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, save for the sounds of the car, and Tooru hears his heart beat loudly in his ears.

“...I miss you,” he says, a quiet confession into the darkened room.

“Not long,” Hajime says, but Tooru hears it, clear as day, _I miss you, too._

**Author's Note:**

> ...it's been a while since my last iwaoi fic :'D Are you guys still here...?
> 
> Second part coming soon.  
> [tumblr.](http://frenchibi.tumblr.com)


End file.
